


Pulling a Runner

by abigail89



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Birthday Party, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-14
Updated: 2011-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-25 23:49:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigail89/pseuds/abigail89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy Birthday, Ron!  A 30th birthday fic for the Harry & Ron comm on LJ in 2010.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Pulling a Runner

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Birthday, Ron! A 30th birthday fic for the Harry & Ron comm on LJ in 2010.

Ron looks around the flat, not sure of what he's looking for, or expecting, or....something. It _feels_ like something is about to happen, like a party is going to break out any....

That's it. _Harry's planning a party for me_ , Ron thought, panicked. _Dammit!_

He turns and picks up his robes from the end of the sofa. As he does, a small folded piece of parchment falls to the carpeting. He unfolds it and reads, _Go to work, Ron._ It's in Harry's distinctive handwriting.

 _HA! That's what he wants me to do._ And so that is precisely what Ron does _not_ do. He concentrates hard, and Apparates away...

...to his parents' house. The tell-tale crack brings his mother to the dutch door. “Ronald Weasley! Just what are you doing here?”

“Um...can I hide out here for a while?” he asks, uncertain.

Molly's face softens. “Of course, dear. Come on in. Have you eaten yet?”

She serves him a plate of toast and scrambled eggs. On top of the toast is another parchment note. _Ok, so since you're not working, how about meeting me in Diagon Alley?--h_

“Mum, is Harry here?”

“Harry? No, dear. Haven't seen him since you both came for dinner last week.”

Ron is mystified, but hunger is stronger. He tucks in and is nearly finished when....

“Oh, Ronnie. I nearly forgot! Hap--”

Ron jumps up. “Gotta run, Mum. ThanksforbreakfastBYE!” And he Apparates away.

 _Whew. Close one!_

Ron looks around, and sees that he's landed in a large building. He walks around the high ceilinged, vast space, and then hears, “CUT! All right, let's try it again.”

He wanders over to the source of the sound and --- _Bloody hell! The Great Hall?!?_ Only....not the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

“Hey, mate. Can I help you?” A guy with a large set of earphones around his neck asks.

“Umm...I think I'm lost.”

“Not unusual. Leavesden is a huge place,” the man says, chuckling. “Come on, let's see if I can't get you sorted.”

Ron follows the friendly man through a warren of corridors, passing large rooms that look so familiar it's freaking Ron out, and then into a smaller room with racks and racks of Hogwarts robes.

Ron's mind is trying to wrap itself around this dimension when an owl flutters up and drops a folded-up parchment into Ron's amazed hand.

“Oi, you mangy bird. What the hell you doing back here?” The man tries to shoo it away. “Bloody stupid things they are.” He leaves muttering to himself.

 _Again with the running! Come on, Ron. Just come to the office already—Harry_

Oh, no! Not again. Ron looks around frantically and Apparates.

It continues all day long: Ron Apparates, Harry's missives find him, each one getting more and more annoyed in tone and language. He goes to Hogsmeade, that bar in Cardiff where he and Harry got stinking drunk after a case, the lodge outside Exeter where he and Harry spent a glorious sex-filled week (he gets a little weak in the knees at the memory), Newcastle-Upon-Tyne, the hotel in Blackpool—all places his memories pull him, all places he's shared with Harry. And everywhere he goes, a damned piece of parchment finds him.

  
Finally, exhausted and completely weirded out, Ron Apparates back home to their London flat. “SURPRISE!!!!” greets him.

“Fine, FINE!” he yells. “I'm here. Happy Birthday to me. What-the-fuck ever!”

But no one seems to pay any attention to his irritation. Someone presses a glass of Old Ogden's into his hands; everyone leans in to shake his hand, kiss his cheek, pat him on the shoulder. Finally, he comes face to face with a clearly bemused Harry.

“I'm sorry, Ron, but you cannot outrun the fact that it's your thirtieth birthday,” Harry says.

“Yeah,” Ron grumbles, taking a long pull of the firewhisky. “Maybe that wasn't such a good strategy.”

“Still, it was quite a challenge keeping up with you,” Harry replies, taking the drink and putting food-loaded plate into his hands. “Newcastle-Upon-Tyne? Seriously?”

“Site of the Chudley Cannons finest, most epic loss,” Ron says, shrugging. “Gotta admit, it was memorable. How did--” The thought hits him. “Tracking Spell.”

“Tracking Spell. Thought you might pull a runner on your birthday after how grouchy you've been all week.”

Ron grins weakly as he eats.

Finally, he warms up to the party as he eats and chats with people, people he's known and loved for years. When the cake is served, held by Hermione and his mum, he cracks and admits turning thirty isn't so bad.

Especially when his best mate, his lover, his beloved Harry feeds him the first bite and follows it with a sweet kiss.  



End file.
